


Despite Everything

by lukeinallhisglory



Category: Original Work
Genre: Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Fluff, M/M, Original Fiction, a smidge of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 21:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6769930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lukeinallhisglory/pseuds/lukeinallhisglory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A scene from my original story in which Cian is learning to accept himself, and the way that Dylan makes him feel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Despite Everything

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sort of testing this scene out to see what you guys think. This is my original work, and my original ideas and characters, so please respect that.  
> The title is not based on a song, which I know is a shock, so feel free to take a moment to let that sink in.

“This is going to sound stupid,” I started.

“Shoot.”

“Can I just, like, ask you some questions?”

“Yeah, ok.” He looked over at me, trying to gage if there was something bothering me.

“What’s your biggest fear?”

“Well it used to be that I’d never really love anything.” His voice went soft, and I felt his eyes on me as I blushed and focused my attention harder on my AP Calculus homework.

“And now?” I prompted, pretending to be unaffected.  

“I don’t know. Spiders?” He shrugged and smirked at me as I glanced up at him.

“Did you get A for 12?” I asked, as if that’s what I wanted to be talking about right now.

He let me watch him for a beat before he glanced down and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Are you close with your family?”

"Short answer; no."

"And the long answer?"

Dylan sighed, setting down his pencil.  “My dad works more than he breathes, and my mom has a hard time functioning without any extra pressure.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Dylan chuckled.

“No, I know. Still, though.”

“Ok.” he accepted my gesture, but I could tell that it didn't actually make a difference.  

“What about your brother?”

“He thinks I’m too sensitive and opened. That I should be more like him and follow the don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy that the rest of the family has implemented.”

“So you resent him?”

“I guess, yeah.”

“If it makes you feel better I don’t think you need to be less opened.”

“Well yeah, you love interviewing me,” Dylan teased, bumping my knee with his.

“Hey, you said I could!” I pouted.

“I know, it’s fine,” he laughed, taking my hand.

“B for 15?”

“Uh huh. You know you ask a lot of questions.” I didn’t respond, letting him watch me for a moment, waiting for an answer.   Then Dylan closed his notebook and tossed it on the coffee table, grabbing mine and throwing it aside, too. He pulled me to face him, grabbing either side of my hoodie. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” I ignored him, and he sighed. “Cian, if you don’t talk to me I’ll go insane.” His hands slipped down to grip my waist.

“I’m talking, I’m talking. What do you want me to say? Can I have my homework back?” I was being a little passive aggressive, but with Dylan touching me, it quickly becomes hard to formulate coherent thoughts.

“Ci,” he murmured. “Come on.”

“Ok, ok. I’m sorry,“ I sighed.

He sat back again, handing me back my notebook. “Can _I_ ask _you_ a question?”

“Ok.”

“You really think she’d hate you for being gay,” and it’s not really a question.

“I’m her son, she could never hate me.” I looked over at him, watching his reaction to see how much he believed me, so I could judge how much I believed myself.

“Exactly right, Ci,” and he’s calling me “Ci” and making me talk about things that I hate to talk about, and I should be running. Normally I’d run. But it’s not normally, and he’s not normally, and god, god, god, she’d hate me. She’d hate me for feeling what I feel for a _him_ , and not a _her,_ and wanting what I want, from a _him,_ and hating her for hating me, and hating myself because how could I hate her?

“I’ve sort of built up this hate for _her_ though, if you see what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Dylan’s voice had lowered to a whisper, and his fingers curled around my hand, and god, god, god, I hate her for this sick feeling that I’m getting, over the way my heart is racing right now. I hate her because I’m messing up her master plan. Maybe she wouldn’t hate me, but she’d be so goddamn disappointed.

“What about you? Why haven’t you told your parents?”

“I did.”

“You did?”

“And they sent me to a Christian camp to cure me.  It's funny, me liking boys apparently went so far against their values as jews, and yet they tried to beat it out of me with a totally different god, as if the first one had already failed.” Dylan smiled in that way that he does when he’s trying to be both closed off and opened at the same time.

“I’m so sorry.” I tried again.

“No, don’t be. They think I’m cured and I…well, I know I’m not sick, so hey…guess I’d call that a win on some level.”

“I, uh- I guess, yeah.”

“Hey, don’t feel bad for me. I’m fine.” And it was hearing that claim that gave me the distinct impression that he was miserable. He smiled at me and turned away, ignoring my sympathetic gaze.

“Dylan,” I mumbled, reaching up and tipping his chin back to look at me.

“Ci, it’s really fine.” He rushed out, his eyes shining.

“I love you. This is real. It’s not an illness. I’m not saying that you believed them, but if you did, even briefly, it makes sense, and it’s ok.”

“Believed…?” He whispered, watching me closely.

“And I’m proud of you, alright? Because I never even thought about telling my parents before I met you. It didn’t’ even occur to me to tell them just for me.”

He sighed heavily. “It has to be for you.”

“It’ll be for you, because I can’t make you happy like this.”

“Oh please,” he rolled his eyes.

“Oh please, what?”

He smiled, real this time, his eyes locking on to mine. His hand came up to the back of my neck, dragging me forward until our foreheads pressed together. “You’re doing fine.” His lips met mine gently and I smiled despite myself.

He let me go and I sat back, still smiling. “When I said you ask a lot of questions, I wasn’t hinting that you should stop.” He squeezed my fingers.  

“Do you want kids?” I blurted out before I could stop myself. “Wait, you don’t have to answer that!”

Dylan chuckled. “I don’t mind.”

“It’s not really fair of me to ask when what I’m really asking is…Do you see your end game being a woman, so you can have your own kids?”

“I don’t know if I’m bi,” was Dylan’s answer. And it managed to tell me nothing and everything at the same time.

“But you know you like boys?” I looked down at our intertwined hands as a sort of confirmation.

“Well, I like to go case by case.”

“Humor me for a minute?”

“Ok…” Dylan looked over at me, watching me warily.

“In the case of me.”

“In the case of you?” He laughed, his fingers squeezing mine, again. I nodded, not smiling. He realized I wasn’t kidding and sighed, setting our notebooks aside again. I let the silence hang between us as he moved off of the couch to kneel in front of me on the floor. “Come on, Cian, you’ve got to have caught on by now.” He took both of my hands in his, his eyes blazing at me.   I stayed silent and he groaned, dropping his head into my lap. “I was so sure I was bi before I met you.”

“And now?” I chocked out, my voice braking pathetically.

“I don’t care about who else I’m attracted to. It used to matter to me so much; that I was gay, or bi, or whatever I was because it wasn’t normal, and it ate away at me, and now…Cian, all I know is that I’m crazy about you, and if you’re asking how I see my end game? Well, I see it with you. So you tell me what that makes me.”

“I’m not talking romance, I mean purely sexual attraction.”

“You’re it, babe. You’re it, you’re it, you’re it.”

“Doesn’t that feel unrealistic?”

“Why?” Dylan shrugged, lacing our fingers.

“We’re horny teenage boys.” My voice was softened with impending tears, and Dylan had caught on, squeezing my hands, rubbing his thumbs along mine. “More hormones racing through us than our brains can even keep up with.”

“I can keep up.” He smirked at me, standing and crawling into my lap. “I’ll take care of you.” His lips pressed to the corner of my mouth. He shimmied his hips and my hands moved to hold them instinctively.

“Not talking about me.”

“I know you’re not,” he smiled sadly at me. “You mean everything to me. I’m not going to screw this up.” He took my face in his hands, tipping his forehead against mine. I lifted a hand to cup the back of his neck. “I’ll prove it to you.” His voice fell to a whisper.

“How?” I matched his tone, looking up at him to find him smoldering at me from beneath his lashes.

His fingers stroked gently at my scalp. On the inside I was purring with contentment, but on the outside I made no reaction. “By loving the fuck out of you. I’ll wait until you’re ready, and you realize that I mean it, and have always meant it. If it takes 50 years.”

“You won’t love me in 50 years,” I chuckled bitterly, a tear sliding down my cheek.

He sighed. “Yes I will.” His lips pressed to my forehead, slower, and with more passion, than I would have thought possible. “Promise.” He pulled away, wiping my tears away. He looked at me, his thumb still stoking back and forth across my cheek. “Ok?” His fingers went back into my hair, rubbing at my scalp.

I nodded, smiling through my tears, leaning into his hand. “Ok.”

“If _you_ still love _me_ ,” Dylan whispered, smirking at me.

“Mmhmm,” I whined, pulling him down by the collar. His lips met mine gently, but I deepened it immediately, pulling him down closer into me. I ran my hands up and down his sides, rubbing his back.

I tugged his bottom lip with my teeth, sucking on it, and he moaned, low and rough, fingers still working at my scalp. “God, you’re so hot,” he panted into my mouth, tugging at me everywhere. His lips moved to the corner of my mouth and down my jaw, breathing still ragged.

“We still have 25 problems to do,” I mumbled as his lips trailed down my throat. He sat back in my lap, looking at me.

“Seriously?” he smirked.

“I’m your 5 sponsor, remember?”

“I better get a 5,” he grumbled, flopping down on the couch off of me.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! If you liked this, hated this, like a specific thing, hated a specific thing, please let me know. You're feedback is absolutely invaluable, and is the reason I'm posting this. Let me know if you're interested in me uploading the whole book chronologically because this is from about half way through. Warning though, some parts of it get really heavy, and it's also a huge reading commitment on your part.


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